The Innocence Found in Lust
by Sir Fizz-A-Lot
Summary: A supernatural being appears on Earth and the Winchester boys under the order of Castiel take her in. What harm could she do? She hardly ever speaks; but her eyes and her scent...Oh this will be challenging.


_**Author's Note: Hey there guys! So I'm TERRIBLE and instead of working on L.A. Suicide like I should I have found a new fandom/muse and wrote for it instead. To be honest, since Numb3rs ended I haven't been feeling the story I started and I'm probably just going to take it down and reserve it for a later date when I feel more into it.**_

_**Moving on.**_

_**This is a Supernatural fic starting in Season Four between It's the Great Pumpkin Sam Winchester and Wishful Thinking.**_

_**RATING- M**____**for language and violence but NC-17 for later encounters**_

_**PAIRINGS-**____**DeanxOC SamxOCxDean CasxOC SamxGabriel (Not all pairings are romantic)**_

_**DISCLAIMER:**____**I OWN ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. All characters belong to their respective owners. If I did own them, they would be shirtless far too often and there wouldn't be the incredible fandom there is right now to play in because it would be morphed into a really lame show. So be glad I don't own.**_

_**Shoutouts-**____**Holy wow. Two people that deserve this are definitely Donald and my fellow writer stereo-typed.**_

_**stereo-typed-**____**wow thank you for the push back into Supernatural and for helping me with the long hours of questions, research, and inspiring videos of fan!vids. You really are a fantastic person and I'm lucky enough to know you in real life! Check out her stuff too, she writes amazing stuff EVEN IF SHE HASN'T POSTED IN FOREVER. Still worth the checking out.**_

_**Donald-**____**I'm going to try to keep this short and NOT seem like I'm coming onto you. But anyway, thank you so much for your honest opinions and critiques of my work. Your ideas are amazing and I am grateful to you for letting me use them (future credit for those too). My unofficial beta, you are fantastic. I can't thank you enough for the long winded chats about this story and what to change, take out, or just rewrite. I suppose this is good practice for your major but I still would like to thank you for putting up with me.**_

_**I HOPE YOU ENJOY. Please no flames but constructive criticism is welcome. :D**_

Her father's voice was loud and echoed her name through the caverns and tunnels of heated rock, to her "room", her cage, her prison. She was the bastard child of Asmodeus one of the Seven Princes of Hell, the Prince of Lust and a Dove Maiden by the name of Tori. She had died giving birth to her, Asmodeus' demon DNA wreaked havoc on the Maiden's body and she died with a final push, bringing her daughter into the world. The Dove blood in the baby girl's body had been amplified by the demon blood, giving the girl wings that would have been seen only when her mother was in dove form.

Her dull, dirt encrusted feathers ruffled at the voice, deep garnet eyes suddenly opened from beneath paled tan eyelids. Ah, the perks of living in Hell, the partial yet permanent tans. Her eyes fell to the demon standing guard of her and her cage. His bulging muscles rippled as he moved forward to pull the heavy length of chain connected to the door to her cell with thick yellow clawed hands. The huff of exertion was raspy from the thick leather mask that covered his nose and mouth. A light clink and the door swung free. With a rustle of dirty feathers, she floated to the ground, her hair dancing around with an unseen breeze. A tempting sight despite the layer of grime and sharp, angular, malnourished look she was hidden under. Muscles tensed around the chain, a demon with willpower. This was the reason Asmodeus had chosen him to stand guard of his…enticing daughter. Her scent, looks, even her voice filled men, women, and demons with lust; the need to just be with her. So he locked her up; no contact with anyone or anything. She wasn't allowed to speak or draw attention to herself, lest there be punishment.

She hated the punishments more than being locked up. Being locked up for 20 years in a cage in Hell does make one a little crazy for touch, speech. Anything. So she hit a defiant streak. Once she flapped her wings and sang, her tantalizing essence as well as her voice had demons flocking to her own slice of Hell. Literally. For such impertinence, her father somehow quelled the clamoring demons before taking his daughter to a room. A dungeon full of devices; leather whips, floggers, gags, chains, paddles, his personal dungeon of punishment or pleasure. She didn't expect it to be the latter, not at the hands of her father. It hadn't been pleasurable in any sense of the word. By the time he was through with her, she couldn't move on her own volition. Deep gashes marked her calves, severing the tendons in her feet where along those gashes, her father had rubbed some herb and it kept the wounds from healing fully, properly. Feathers from her wings and been torn out by the fistfuls, her throat sore from screaming around the gag placed in her mouth. The floggers hard leather strips had bit mercilessly into the delicate skin on her back. The blood flowed freely down her back as she was being carried back to her cage. The crimson fluid stained her bound wings and back.

Being tossed carelessly back into her cage, she was informed that the chains attached to her wings for a week. It had been the most painful and uncomfortable week of her life. The heavy metal shackles were attached to the delicate ulna and radius of her wings. It hurt to have the delicate hollow bones almost crushed just by the weight of the restraints. The chains bent feathers out of place and they had to remain that way. She couldn't reach them to smooth them. Nor did she want to, exhaustion filled her body and with the sting of pulled wounds, she fell into a fitful sleep. Another marked occasion of defiance was when she had tried to escape on her own. Unlocking the cage herself wasn't difficult and she used her charms to have the guard let her free. When her father found her wandering the tunnels and rooms of Hell, he sent her to be tortured by the hands of another condemned soul.

_The first day was just a "getting to know your torturer". His treatment was far worse than Asmodeus' had been and he had sentenced her to a week of it. While her father just beat her, this condemned soul broke her apart. Scars covered her tormenter's powerful tan body and she vaguely wondered if it was from his torture. She had tried to ask him that, but his green eyes hardened to jade chips and he pressed her down onto a Rack. She resisted the pressure of his callused hands, "Shh. Hush now." His words were almost kind and almost sympathetic. If his eyes didn't show the promise of the wicked things he planned on doing to her._

_And wicked it had been. The first two days were spent pulled apart on the Rack. His hands skimmed along her naked body. Not like a lover, but rather someone memorizing the layout for maximum pain. Her joints ached and almost refused to function. Soon floggings with hard leather paired with the Rack. Other times it was the Breast Shredder, pulling apart her breasts with red hot metal talons as her joints gave way to the slowly spinning mechanism of the Rack. Each torture she screamed, cried, pleaded, begged him to stop. Every time they fell on deaf ears as he heated up her least favorite torture device, Heretic's Fork. He ended his sessions with her combining the heated double sided for with electricity and feather pulling. The Fork was placed under her neck, the heat easily melting the soft skin under her jaw while the other end pushed through the skin of her chest lodging between the notch where her clavicles met her sternum. Every jolt of electricity or handful of feathers pulled out had her body lurching and driving the Fork further into her skin. After her week long session, the shackles from before were again placed on her wings, this time for three weeks._

_It had been the most painful and uncomfortable three weeks of her life. The heavy metal shackles again, dug into her fragile wing bones. She couldn't move, she could barely breathe. Her throat raw and sore from her screams. Which, of course, spurred her torturer on; forcing her head down farther on the Fork, he even split open her chest cavity at one point and caressed her still beating heart. After six days of near death and complete recovery the maiden was exhausted. She never rebelled again after she healed several weeks after her last session with the condemned soul._

Not wanting to repeat her previous punishments, she moved silently and with purpose to her father's throne room in the second layer of Hell. Her eyes straight ahead as she moved through the wide tunnels allowing her wings to stretch out more than her cage would. The Demon Maiden groaned the movement felt so _good_; her fatigued back muscles pulled and tried to relax making her large wings sag to the ground. The long flight feathers briefly skimmed the heated earth and she paused mid-step letting the warmth seep up her wings and spine. Rarely has she ever been called upon to meet with her father in his throne room. If he had to speak with her, he came to her…room; mask and all. So this was strange, but she didn't let that ruin her brief moment of freedom.

She approached the throne room, amid the screams of damned souls she heard her father's voice muffled by the door but definitely angry. She faltered, worried that his anger was directed at her. She searched her brain for anything she could have possibly done to anger the Lust Prince. Well she had been in her cage the whole time since her punishment a year ago. She couldn't have possibly done anything, so with a clear mind she pushed open the large double doors.

The stone doors scraped against the floor, alerting her father and three other demons to her presence. Her father sat on his simple black marble throne while the others stood nearby. All four pairs of eyes turned to her. "Filiadai…" His words were soft, almost kind. He gestured towards the demons standing by his side. "These are my remaining siblings. Oeillet, the Princess of Greed." The second tallest demon and the only almost identifiably female one in the room dropped in a shallow curtsey. Her tan and unevenly muscled physique looked awkward as the female demon brushed back her mottled green hair from her shade black eyes to show the maiden some begrudging respect. At least, that's how it seemed when she stalked forward to examine the girl further.

"Such wings on a hideous creature…"She murmured, pressing close to the smaller demon, sounding a lot like her brother Sonnilon. Tone tinged with envy, his sin. Asmodeus cleared his throat, a hissing noise through his leather mask. Oeillet turned half away from Filiadai with her eyes narrowed but said nothing as she turned away, walking to her brother's side. "Gresil, Prince of Gluttony." By far the widest thing that the girl ever saw looked in her direction and….nodded in greeting? She couldn't tell with his triple chin he was sporting. No muscle definition but plenty of tan fat moving with every raspy breath. The maiden had to suppress a shudder at the sight.

"And finally, Baal, the General of the Imperial Armies." She swallowed roughly; he was the only demon not wearing a mask. The other three were wearing identical masks to her guard. She had watched him breathe deeply as she came in He was the biggest demon she had ever laid eyes on. His Hell tan was deep and even, pulled taut over his large and excessively muscled frame. Leather pants in Hell? Not a good idea. At least at this level; the hot winds that blew from the torture pit and caressed every expanse of skin that it could reach would be unbearable if wearing pants designed to be a second skin. The thought put a shiver down her spine, certainly if anyone outside the family could withstand the torture of the second layer it would be the General of Hell's Armies. That thought alone put a shiver down her spine and her gaze fell to the floor. Of fear or arousal, she couldn't tell. But the cold murderous glint in his flat black eyes quelled whatever feeling she had, until her father spoke again.

"Ruby…took our brothers from us. She is a traitor. She is helping the Winchester boys and she MUST be stopped. That bitch is ruining Lucifer's chance to rise again. Filiadai….Baal has a plan and you are going to help."

Not a request, an order. Her eyes snapped up from their submissive place to look at her father in shock, hardening to garnet stones, her eyes narrowed as she felt a change of heart overcome her.

"No."

That single melodious word ender her life as she knew it. Baal's eyes glazed over, Gresil let out a pleased moan and Oeillet just turned to watch the scantily clad young half demon. Short skirt and a gauzy tube top that allowed her wings to move freely. Asmodeus stood to his full height he towered over the girl's fragile 5'7" frame. "No?" He repeated an edge of disbelief in his voice as he walked toward his daughter. His body was stiff, with an air of absolute control.

Filiadai nodded meekly, her courage faltering. "I will not stand for such insolence! You are to go with Baal or-"

"Or what?" She challenged, interrupting the demon mid-sentence as a wave of courage surged through her system.

"Or die." The Demon Prince finished, his flat black eyes flashed a dangerous warning to his daughter. One she ignored.

She stood firm despite the fear that swallowed her momentary courage, "No."

With a wave of his clawed hand, he signaled the minor demons that had moved into the room with no notice from the maiden to seize her, but Baal was already there a flash squeezing his large hand around her neck, very effectively cutting off her air supply. He lifted her almost nothing weight with the one hand around her delicate neck. She coughed and scratched feebly at his hand as he raised her higher. As shadows gathered at the corners of her eyes she thought she was going unconscious but with a steady pressure on her wings and she knew they were her father's minions. The feeling grew worse as her delicate joints cracked, popped, and rolled with the forced movement. Filiadai tried scream but all that came out was a raspy groan that stole her remaining air. She closed her eyes and forced herself to relax against the chokehold. Before passing out, on the edge of her consciousness the maiden felt the torturous pain of her flesh tearing, the area where her wings had been, burned as they were ripped from her body. The agony of being torn apart pushed her into the realm of unconscious as she wished for death.


End file.
